


you were swinging for mars

by but_seriously



Category: The Originals (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, basically: the originals play hide and seek fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_seriously/pseuds/but_seriously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I give up. <i>Why</i> are you all hiding in my house?"</p><p>"Technically, girl," Finn says, lighting his pipe, "we are under your house."</p>
            </blockquote>





	you were swinging for mars

**Author's Note:**

> somethingofthewolf on tumblr: "originals playing hide & seek + klaroline this is a prompt"
> 
> original post [here](http://highgaarden.tumblr.com/post/80153956676/).

It’s when Caroline is rewriting her paper for Alaric’s class that she hears it - at first she chalks it up to the breeze picking up outside, spindly tree branches scratching against the shingles, but then—a giggle.

Trees don’t giggle.

She may live in a town where witches chant and vampires feed and werewolves prowl and ghosts linger but the trees, the trees don’t giggle. This isn’t some pseudo-Lord of the Rings shit where they bid you a good day and give you rides to Mordor. She sets down her purple pen, pulls out an earbud that’s been blasting The Veronicas, tucks her hair behind her ear and listens closely.

There it is again. She pushes her hair back and looks around the room, trying to place the offending sound, and what do you know, it’s coming from her closet. For a moment her dead heart pounds - she’s seen all those Chucky movies with Tyler and Matt and Bonnie over at Elena’s when they were ten, some dare of Vicki’s, and immortal or not, feral or not, she’s kind of not ready for that.

Approaching it slowly, cheer trophy gripped tight in her hands, she yanks open her closet to find—

"What the fu—Kol? What are you doing in my  _closet_?”

His cheek is mashed against the wall; and a rustle, a creak of hangers, and Rebekah falls out as well. “Great, Kol. You’ve bloody given us away. You so  _know_  she’s going to run off to Nik.”

"Don’t be so quick to judge, Caroline isn’t the snitching type - are you darling?"

"And you know this from the five minutes you’ve spent in her closet? I knew I should have gone with Elijah instead!"

"All he does is sit in his armchair and wait for us to find him; figures you’d be a bore."

"Better than a b-o-a-r."

"Go on then, go to Elijah. Go be a  _boring_  strumpet!”

Caroline shuts the door on them.

 

—

 

She’d thought it was just one of the Originals’ many eccentricities; a thousand years on earth (of which most of it you spend being cooped and daggered in a box fit for gourmet chicken) and you’d have to find a way to abate boredom somehow. If Kol and Rebekah playing Seven Minutes in Hell in her closet means they aren’t pissing off witches or bleeding her town dry then, you know - okay.

"Go for the green. I rather like the colour on you," Kol says, slipping a dress off a hanger.

Caroline picks orange instead. She turns in front of her mirror, frowns studiously at the tiny buttons in the back. “How long are you planning on staying there, anyway?”

"It’s Finn’s turn." Kol sighs dramatically. "His navigation leaves a lot to be desired when there aren’t any stars out."

"Meaning?"

Kol shrugs and winds one of her scarfs around his neck. “A while.”

 

—

 

She’d thought it was just one of the Originals’ many eccentricities, the way some people collect stamps or dead bugs, a passing whim; Kol will be out of her underwear drawer by next week—

She was wrong.

She slides into her car one day, driving down to the froyo parlour where Elena had said she’d be, and she glances up into her rear view mirror and nearly crashes into her neighbour’s picket fence.

Because Elijah’s sitting in the backseat, reading Pygmalion.

What the hell.

"What the hell," she intones. 

"Good morning, Caroline," Elijah says, sparing her a glance before going back to his text. "I hope you don’t mind this slight indulgence of mine?"

Oh, right. Elena had mentioned something about this, hadn’t she? Opening doors to find his smile that always shifted between charming and crazy axe man. Waking up to find him in the armchair by your bed. Turning on the lights only to find him stoking the fire and casually dropping death threats.

Her fingers clench around her steering wheel. She’s still parked in an awkward position three inches away from Mrs. Hawke’s azaleas, at a loss. “Um,” she says intelligently.

Elijah hums a response, turns a page.

"I’m not helping you cheat," she says, feeling brave. Elijah finally looks up from his book. Oddly enough, he doesn’t look out of place at all in his suit against her kawaii stuffed pillows. "I know about your game, Elijah."

The man, he speaks! “Cheating implies that I am partaking in this silly game, which I’m not.”

"So you just happen to be here because you decided Hey, it’s Saturday, let’s go check out Caroline’s hand-me-down Ford?"

Elijah raises an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Sighing, Caroline reverses the car and books it out of the street. “Wanna get froyo?”

 

—

 

And seriously,  _seriously,_  why does she even humour these monsters-made-men? She’s pretty sure one of her underwear is missing but Kol seems to think it’s okay to compensate by buying her a new dress, green, and a note in elegant script that takes her by surprise.  _If Nik asks, I was never here._

"Like that will stop him," Rebekah snorts over her shoulder.

Caroline tears herself away and groans. “Is there a sign pointing at my door saying ORIGINALS WELCOME HERE or something?”

"You let Kol stay," Rebekah sniffs.

"Kol didn’t use up my conditioner," Caroline snaps in retort. Rebekah falls gracefully down on her bed, twirling her damp hair with a lofty smile. "Nice room you have," she comments. 

"Surprised it’s still standing after being Original tag-teamed," Caroline mutters. She sweeps Rebekah aside, she was wrinkling her new dress.

Not that she placed any value in it; for all she knew Kol probably had two retailers fight to the death Battle Royale style just deciding on which print to buy her. 

But still, it’s a really nice dress, and spilled blood or not, it’d kind of go great with those appliqué tights Bonnie got her for Christmas.

"Plebian as he is, Kol knows how to make your legs look good," Rebekah says appreciatively, and then she’s perusing Caroline’s laptop. "Ooh, Mean Girls. Did you know there’s a girl who looks exactly like me in the sequel? I’m prettier, of course."

Caroline rolls her eyes but settles in next to Rebekah anyway, and they download a bunch of crappy movies and sip from the blood bags Rebekah had conjured out of her jacket until one of them falls asleep.

 

—

 

She doesn’t bat an eyelid when she finds Finn crouched by her daisy patch one evening when cheer practice runs late, but she  _does_  stop to stare at the underground trench he’d built.

"Overnight?" she asks, taking his offered hand and clambering down.

"We must take every precaution when it comes to Niklaus," Finn says gravely. He’s let his hair grow out a little, and there’s dirt caked in his fingernails, but it’s a good look on him. With his scruff and dark eyes that pierce right into her, she’s reminded eerily of Klaus.

She heaves a sigh and folds herself into the makeshift chair Finn’s nudged towards her with his knee. “I give up.  _Why_  are you all hiding in my house.”

"Technically, girl," Finn says, lighting his pipe, "we are under your house."

She  _tchhts_  because, whatever, same difference.

"But if you must know," Finn continues in that sombre way of his, "it is the only safe respite. My brother would not dream to come near you."

And that gets her confused. “Huh?”

“You were trying to kill us all, were you not?” Finn blows smoke rings into the air; it lingers around her in gaping  _O’_ s before dispersing. The smoke smells heavy and sweet, like tobacco and chocolate spice.

Caroline realizes then that she’s sitting in the dark with an Original. An Original who, while not showing any signs of vitriol, might be harbouring some dank revenge plot against her. Stupid, stupid,  _stupid_ Caroline – do you never learn from your mistakes?

His sage eyes catch hers in the moonlight. “Worry not, child. I’m not here to hurt you.”

She swallows. “Then why are you here?”  

“To win,” he says, like it should be obvious. “It’s almost Niklaus’s turn.”

 

—

 

She hears her bushes rustle in the night and knows it must be Kol flitting in and out of her garden; a click of chine in the kitchen and Elijah’s probably fixing himself some tea or something. Once, Rebekah crashes through her door and asks in a fury where he is, has she  _seen_  him, but they only find a plate of ginger cookies and a note that says,  _If you think you can find me – you can’t._

“Very mature, ‘Lijah. So much for not playing,” Rebekah seethes, before flashing out the back door.

“Do you guys even know how to play hide and seek?” Caroline says to no one in particular.

 

—

 

It’s the night of the decade dance and she has her hair in pearls and feathers, shocking pink feather boa wrapped around her shoulder and Bonnie’s as Elena snaps a picture. The polaroid comes out great, Caroline’s laughing and Bonnie has her tongue out, Stefan photobombing in the background.

Her cheeks are flushed and Tyler goes off to get drinks, leaving her twirling in the middle of the dance floor. Someone’s spiked the punch and she feels airy and breathless, light on her feet. Someone snakes an arm around her and she turns. “That was fast.”

The smile drops from her face. It’s not Tyler—it’s Klaus.

“Well, to Finn’s credit he really did think the Mystic Grille was a good hiding space. Kol lies subdued in my art room, and that leaves…” Klaus tilts his head in mock thought, guiding her into a dance. Her limbs are stiff but he’s forceful even as his hand cups hers so gently. “Rebekah, and Elijah. I’d like to leave Elijah for last, something nice in the symmetry of that, but Rebekah – you know how she can’t resist a good dance.”

He grins at her, his teeth glint like bullets in the golden haze of the tricked-out gym. “You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you love?”

“No,” Caroline replies, forcing herself not to think about Rebekah tumbling out of the room hand in hand with Matt, because the way Klaus looks at her, it’s like he fancies himself being able to see right through her, read her every thought, nourish her every need.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Klaus says, and dips her low.

Her pearls bounce against her neck and Klaus nudges them aside with his nose – her breath catches in her throat, choking her.

She wrenches herself away, but he catches her wrist. “I’ve told you I don’t know where she is. What, do you think I actually give a crap about the twisted little games you and your siblings play—”

“But you like games,” Klaus taunts. “Little trickster that you are; forgive me for assuming you’d have a part in this.”

His grip tightens and she hears a snap and sucks in a breath through her teeth, because  _fuck_  Klaus. Fuck him and his thirst for blood, for his inability to let things the fuck go, for those pair of dimples that swoop in like a saving grace as if to excuse him for all the horrible things he’s done. “It’s hide and  _seek_ , for Chrissake,” she grits. “Go seek and leave me alone.”

Klaus narrows his eyes and leans so close she has to force herself to stand her ground. “Don’t think I don’t know where my siblings have been.” He holds her gaze and the world is reduced to white noise around her. Her wrist burns in the trapping of his fingers and she shakes him off – this time, he lets her go.

“Oh, and—” He fishes something out of his pocket and flicks it to her – her mouth drops open as she grapples for the yellow lace of her panties. It’s bad enough that he has to break her wrist, but he has to humiliate her too. “You really should be mindful of who you let into your room.”

 

—

 

She goes home blinking back furious tears, brushing Tyler’s harried questions off.

“I’m fine!” she yells into her phone and hurls it onto her bed. She roots through her drawers for a lighter and leans out her window, holding the flickering flame up to that stupid pony drawing, watches as the edges curl up, smoulder, flake away.

“Fuck you,” she throws like a prayer into the night. The ends of her hair burn, her eyes bleed black soot. Next came his words,  _Thank you_  my ass, and the flames lick at her fingers. She shakes it out over her roof the way she would scatter ashes into the sea, the way she would light off a floating lantern.

It feels like a ritual, almost. Cleansing herself of him, destroying the very last bits of him, putting out the last of the fire with her angry, angry tears.

“Good,” she hears him say softly behind her. “I hope it helps you as much as it helped me.”

“It helps plenty. Rebekah isn’t here,” she says without turning around. She has half a mind to whip the lighter into his stupid face, but he’d probably break more than her wrist this time. “ _Leave_.”

Klaus is standing right behind her now, she can feel the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder blades. “I know she isn’t. I came to see what you would do.”

“Well, show’s over.” She inches closer to her windowsill, her back burning.  

But his lips are right by her ear now, whispering hotly. “You’re just like me.” And is he – is he brushing his lips against her earlobe, is he  _turning her face_  to meet his?

She whirls around and slams her hands against his chest, hard. “You break my wrist, then ask to kiss me. Oh wait, you didn’t even ask.”

Klaus smiles graciously. “May I kiss you, Caroline?”

“You’re delusional,” she spits.

“Ah, yes. But I’ve never lied to you about what I wanted.” He says, and is  _this_  what all of… this is about? Some petty little grudge, all because she’d  _tricked_  him.

“You’re a child, Klaus,” she says, tired all of a sudden. But he’s not listening anymore, his attention caught by something else.

There are bruises looping around her wrist like a different kind of bracelet, the imprint of his fingers lingering in a permanent black and blue long after they fade away. He traces them with a slow finger and she shivers. He looks pleased by this, and oh, she hates him, she’s scared of him, she  _hates_  him.

“This isn’t a game to me, Caroline,” Klaus says suddenly. “It never was.”

Caroline takes in a breath and shuts her eyes. “What makes you think it means anything at  _all_  to me?”

“You burned the picture.”

“It was ugly.”

“So you destroy that which displeases you,” Klaus says thoughtfully, and she knows what he’s really trying to say. Destroy him. Wreck him. Leave him in ruins. Go on, Caroline. I dare you.

She opens her eyes. He’s still standing there. Her lips part and her voice is quiet, a challenge. “I’m going to count to ten.”

“If you insist on making a game out of this,” he says, and she wants to tell him very badly that there is no  _this_ , but he’s backed her up against the window ledge, “you should know I don’t play fair.”

And he kisses her. She drinks him in, bites down on his tongue, tries not to react to his knee nudging its way between her legs. She breaks away, gasping, “If you’re still here by the time I finish counting—”

She’s never seen him look so jubilant, even as he turns to leave.

 

—

 

A few months later while Caroline’s lounging on her front lawn, there’s a rumbling beneath her – the ground breaks apart, the grass scatters, the earth falls away.

 _It’s the apocalypse!_  Caroline yelps, and it’s then that Elijah appears out of the cracked ground, and what do you know: she’s right.

He grins down at her, his eyes apocalyptic, not a speck of dirt on him. “I win.”


End file.
